A Mechanic's Worst Nightmare
by seahorse7
Summary: AU Bayverse: Cooter Davenport had always wondered how the General Lee stayed in one piece after all the abuse the Duke boys put it through. Now he wishes he had never found out. Dukes of Hazzard x-over.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer-I own nothing; everything belongs to whoever owns it (Hasbro, etc). I have no excuse for this except a demon plot bunny that bit me and spawned some more related plot bunnies. See author's notes at bottom. Rated T for some swearing._

_1976_

Cooter Davenport could only stand and stare at the absolute piece of crap that the Duke boys had drug into his garage. Bo had called him over the phone, excited over their new acquisition, and had asked if they could bring it over to the shop to start work on it right away. With Bo a recent high school grad, and Luke fresh out of the Marine Corps, they were itching for something to do with their newfound time. The answer was found in a road race put on by the disreputable "Boss Hogg." Bo and Luke were confident that this year would be the year that they would "break the streak" and win the race.

The boys had managed to put together an engine, and all they needed was the car to drop it in. Turns out they had gone off to some junkyard outside of Capitol City, and had brought back the black clunker that was now sitting in Cooter's garage. It was what remained of a '69 Dodge Charger. As Cooter listened to them debating over the best way to remove the old engine block and drop the new one in, he wondered how the two had managed to break their probation and leave the county without Roscoe catching them and hauling them into the local jail, considering how often he had done it before. Then again, the "probation" was notoriously flexible, with Roscoe and Boss Hogg sometimes extending it to just the edge of town all the way to the county line. Such was the "law" in Hazzard County.

Over the next week, he and the Duke boys worked tirelessly to restore the old junkheap into something that wouldn't fly apart the minute it went over forty-five on the notoriously rough roads that snaked through Hazzard. As the work progressed, Cooter noticed that the car was in better shape that he had thought. There was virtually no rust on the vehicle, and the frame and body were as straight as an arrow and blemish free. There was also that God awful little symbol in the grille that resembled some sort of bird of prey that wouldn't come off, no matter what they tried.

The day before the race, the car was finished except for the paint job. "All right, what color are we gonna slap on this thing?" Luke asked.

"I was thinking something eye-catching, like red. You know, get the girls," Bo replied with a wink.

"I think blue would look better, maybe with some yellow striping thrown in..." Luke argued.

Cooter stopped the argument before it even began. "Look, the only paint color I have enough of to cover the entire car is this orange. I have some red, white, blue and black, but not nearly enough to do the entire car."

The boys weren't happy about it at first, but the car ended up orange. Cooter had to laugh when he came back from running an errand, and found the car's paint job finished. The boys had taken the leftover paint colors that he had had and painted the Confederate Battle Flag on the roof as well as a large number one on the sides. Proud letters proclaimed the name "The General Lee" over the doors.

Come race day, the car wasn't in Hazzard Garage. There wasn't a sign of it anywhere. After a desperate search and chase, they found out why the car was in the junkyard in the first place. Turns out some jewel thieves had wrecked it earlier trying to elude the police, and their loot was still hidden in the car. They had stolen the car back trying to get the ill-gotten jewels.

The Duke boys later drove the car to victory in Boss Hogg's race, just as they had planned. As they careened victoriously over the finish line, the horn blared out the first twelve notes of the song "Dixie."

As they drove past, Luke called out, "Thanks for all your help Cooter!"

Cooter called back, "I picked up some paint while I was out earlier today. If you boys want to swing by the garage later, I'd be happy to let you repaint the car!"

"Nah, I think orange suits the General. By the way, nice touch on the horn Cooter! It's great!" Bo called as the boys headed to the Boar's Nest to celebrate.

"But I didn't put that horn in..." Cooter muttered as the car drove by, leaving him slightly mystified. Shaking his shaggy head, Cooter hopped in his truck, and decided to head where everyone else was going-the Boar's Nest. Who cared about some car horn when everyone was celebrating, and over drinks at that?

* * *

><p><em>1981<em>

Cooter was the first to admit to himself that he didn't always make the smartest decisions. Agreeing to deliver that moonshine for Boss Hogg definitely ranked up there. It didn't help that Bo and Luke ended up borrowing the car the 'shine was in while on the run from Enos, and then of course Mary Kaye had to go into labor while they were on the run not only from Enos but that gangster and his thugs as well... And carjacking the President of the United States' limo probably hadn't been the greatest idea ever...

But he was trying to do better. And with all of the business the Dukes were bringing into his garage, he was making decent money. He couldn't even begin to count the number of times he'd had to go out and rescue a fuming Sheriff Roscoe and his beagle Flash. Roscoe always managed to wreck his patrol car while chasing the Duke boys down for "speeding" in his dubious and highly illegal speed traps. About the only good thing about the rigged speed traps was that they got plenty of good entertainment at the Boar's Nest when passing celebrity singers fell into them and were conned into performing there.

He charged $35.42 for everything from a new bumper to a simple wash'n'wax, and he made a killing off of the Hazzard County Sheriff Department. The sheer number of cars that they went through, and the rate that the cars moved through their department and to the scrapyard was extraordinary in of itself. Cooter once noted that following the Dukes around was virtually guaranteed to increase his business. He also fixed the General Lee for the Dukes, and considering how roughly they treated the poor car, it was amazing it was still in one piece.

It was one evening, the night after the race where the General had taken a smashing victory in the annual Hazzard Derby and the Duke boys had foiled Boss Hogg's master plan yet again, that Cooter sat in his favorite broken down recliner in the living quarters over his garage. He had been sick for the last three days, so sick that Luke had to drive his entry in the Derby, and Cooter was looking forward to a rest from the eventful day. The General was sitting in the garage below, suffering from a strange leak of some sort of blue fluid that had showed up shortly after a rather spectacular leap that Bo had made in the car. The leak didn't seem to have adversely affected the car, as evidenced by its performance in the race earlier, but the boys wanted Cooter to check it out anyway. Cooter had taken one look at the car, and then resolved to look at it in the morning when he wasn't so tired and felt better.

Cooter abruptly jerked awake, not even aware that he had fallen asleep in the recliner with the old rabbit-eared TV set on. Wondering what could have possibly woken him up, he heard an almighty _CRASH _followed by what sounded like someone cussing. There was another crash, and he saw the garage door fly outward, followed by the General Lee driving merrily off towards the woods behind the garage. Cursing mentally to himself, Cooter threw on a jacket, grabbed his 22-gauge, and headed out barefoot to go catch the thief. He would be damned if someone stole the General on his watch.

He could track the car easily enough, following the sparkling blue trail of fluid. He could hear more cussing, and an odd series of metallic thunks and clunks coming from the trees. As Cooter rounded a small hill, he snapped, "Alright Roscoe, game's up. You take your filthy hands off that car or I'll..." Cooter trailed off as he stared in a sort of horror at the scene that greeted him. A massive, humanoid shape towered at least three, maybe four stories over him, complete with demonic, glowing amber eyes (were they eyes?) and horns framing the head. Cooter took one look, and started crying to God that he would clean up his act, go to church every Sunday from here till the end of his life, and pray five times a day if he would just not get claimed by the demon before him and be condemned to Hell for the rest of his existence.

The Thing stared at him in what could only be described as complete bewilderment. It stared down at the blathering human. He was busy trying to understand why this small organic, which he knew usually had such a cool head compared to the other annoying squishy creatures, seemed to have utterly lost its processor and was screaming pleas at the organics' deity. The antics of the organics were illogical enough, but this was beyond the scope of the usual illogical acts of the species. This was simply psychotic. Unable to process what was happening, the poor mech was getting a processor ache. He finally roared at the blabbing organic, "SILENCE! Would you shut the frag up and let me think before I smash you?!"

Cooter snapped his mouth shut as the great metal being held its head as though in pain. He sat there staring at it, and he could only marvel at the intricate mechanics that made up the being. As he looked closer, he could see tires, and was that the number one painted on the General? The orange color it seemed to be painted matched the General perfectly. As he looked, he could see other hints of the '69 Charger hidden throughout the body of the giant robot. So the car was the robot? Or was the robot the car?

Feeling rather awkward as he sat there staring at the robot, who was still holding its head, Cooter decided that he would rather be back at home in his recliner than here. He finally ventured to say, "Uh, my name's Cooter Davenport. What's yours?" It felt strange to be addressing a piece of machinery, but it seemed as though this one had some sort of self-awareness.

The orange robot looked up at him, and then said, "My designation is Charger. I am a autonomous robotic life form from the planet Cybertron." He drew himself up slightly. "I am a Decepticon, and I follow Megatron, who is determined to abolish the slavery of the caste system that subjugates innocent bots! We travel the universe and conquer planets for the glory of our race, even as we battle the evil Autobots who wish to keep my people enslaved!"

Cooter sat there and stared stupidly at the robot, no, _alien space robot from Cyber-wherever that was-who was also some sort of revolutionary and conqueror_, and then intelligently said, "So, how long have you been the General?"

Charger cocked its (his? Cooter wasn't sure if giant alien robots had genders...) and seemed to consider the question. "I was in stasis when I crash landed on this planet, and was unable to properly reboot. I also had extensive damage, part of which you repaired when you overhauled my body in its alt form. It has only been recently that I had any amount of energy. I really don't have enough to transform, but this energon leak is not sealing properly and I need to repair it before I offline permanently."

Cooter felt extremely stupid. Energon? Stasis lock? Alt form? He had not the slightest clue what the robot was talking about. "This energon...is it that blue stuff you've been leaking? What happens if you don't stop the leak?"

"Yes," was the immediate reply. "The energon leaking out in this form is analogous to your blood. If I lose too much, I offline, or die, in human terms."

Great. Cooter had a giant evil alien robot that had apparently been living in his garage on and off for the last seven years, and was now having the giant alien robot equivalent of bleeding to death in the woods behind his garage. He had no idea how he would explain to Bo and Luke that their car had turned into said robot and died behind his garage.

Well, the Dukes had paid him to fix their car. And he owed them for having Luke drive his car in the Derby. And if there was one thing Cooter did, it was honor his debts. Even though he felt like utter crap, and thought that he was probably completely crazy as he did so, he looked up at the great space robot and said, "That leak of yours looks like it's in a rather awkward place for you to try and reach. Why don't we head back to the garage and see what I can come up with."

Those amber eyes looked down at him for a minute, calculating, and then a sharp nod. "That sounds acceptable." The robot leaned down, gaze narrowing. "Know this human-if you attempt to double cross me, I have no reservations over stepping on you like the annoying little insect you are."

Cooter glared at the robot, feeling angry. "Look, I feel like shit, and I don't even want to be out here!" he hollered at the robot."I could just leave your jackass self out here to die without even helping you. In fact, the only reason I am helping you is because my friends asked me to fix their car, which happens to be you. I owe them for helping me, and I'll be damned if I don't fix their car!"

The robot seemed to be slightly taken aback. It gave him another calculating look. "I was unaware that such honor existed in races other than my own," it said.

"Yeah, well, I don't give a shit about the superiority of your race of automatic robo-conquerors from the plant Cypercon, or whatever the hell it was. Just get your ass in the garage so I fix the leak. God, I can't wait till tomorrow when Bo comes to take you back to the farm."

"Why is my presence objectionable to you? You should feel HONORED to host a Decepticon warrior with a distinguished war record and reputation such as myself."

"I don't give a rat's ass what you've done or who you are. I don't even know what a Deceptioncon is. NO! Don't even get started on what that is. I don't care. I'll just fix you, and then I want you to get the hell out of my garage!"

It didn't even occur to Cooter that he might not know how to fix what was wrong with the robot, as it meekly followed him back to the garage.

"God, I need a drink."

Author's Notes: First off, there actually is a Decepticon called Charger. The Charger in this story IS NOT him-he only shares the same name because I have no imagination when it comes to naming things, and I only checked TFwiki after I wrote the story, and then was too lazy to come up with a new name. If this is the nae of anyone's OC, I sincerely apologize in advance for the coincidence in names. Second, I do not wish to offend anyone-I intend no racist implications with this story (i.e. the Confederate Flag). Please do not take anything in this story that way. Anyway, hoped I did this X-over some justice, and that you enjoyed the story. Cheers!


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N-A semi-continuation of this story has been hovering around in my mind for the last ten months, and I finally got around to writing it. And therefore, I give you chapter two, in which Cooter gets a history lesson, nearly gets murdered by a lawnmower, and gets a pet (sort of). Please note this is loosely based in the movie-verse, but is largely AU with elements of some other 'verses._

_Early Spring, 1983_

It had been almost three years since Cooter had first found out the junker car he had helped restore was an alien robot. He mostly tried to avoid it, but the damned thing always ended up in his garage, with him having to fix it. He hated the piece of crap-he was terrified of it. Both he and Charger, the robot, had developed a sort of working agreement, where Cooter would fix Charger, and then Charger would leave Cooter alone the rest of the time. Both parties pretty much pretended that the other didn't exist, and the arrangement suited both just fine.

It was late one cold, sleeting November evening when Cooter heard someone pulling into the garage driveway. He ignored it, until he heard the distinctive 12 notes of "Dixie" sounded out. Grumbling to himself, he threw on his coat and headed out to see what the Dukes needed. They would never come this late unless something really bad had happened. However, he was in for a surprise.

There was no one in the car. Cooter felt his heart drop to his feet, because he knew it could only mean one thing-the robot had come himself because he needed something. "Organic, I..." the orange car ground out, "I...I need your help."

"You need my help? What could you possibly need my help for?" Cooter spat back angrily. He never liked having to deal with this joker. "You think I want to waste my time in the cold buried up to my elbows in a being that views my species as inferior and would gladly smash me flat?"

There was a pause, as the car seemed to shift uneasily on its axles. It was then Cooter noticed the large pool of that blue fluid that he had seen on that night when he had first met the robot. With a sinking feeling, he realized that it must be bleeding out again. "You're losing more of blood stuff again, right, and you need me to patch it up?"

The robot replied, "It isn't just a leak...One of my main energon lines came loose, and jammed in a couple of gears, which in turn tore it open. If I don't get it fixed soon, I'll offline permanently."

Cooter figured it must be like hitting a major blood vessel, and he felt rather bad. It had probably happened earlier that week when the Dukes had rescued his estranged daughter and foiled the plan to turn his garage and the surrounding area into a toxic waste dump. The spectacular jump Bo had forced the robot car to make had probably jarred something loose. He was directly responsible for the damage.

"Well, get inside," he snapped. "I don't have all night, and I sure as hell don't want to work out in the rain and cold." The car wordlessly pulled into the garage, and then turned into its robot form, albeit much more slowly than normal. The being clutched at its side where the blue liquid was pouring out, with an expression that could only be called agony. Cooter grabbed some tools, and the ever trusty duct tape. Careful not to touch the blue fluid, which he knew from past experience led to some _nasty_ skin burns, he hurriedly wrapped the large line with it, instantly cutting off the flow of fluid.

The robot peered down curiously at the makeshift patch job. "That is indeed a miraculous invention," it observed. "We never had such a device on Cybertorn. If a soldier fell in battle and there was no medic nearby, they would bleed out and offline."

"Called duct tape," Cooter grunted. "It and WD-40, that's what holds the world together and makes it go round. Just a temporary patch job until I can do something more permanent." There was an answering hum from the robot, and then more awkward silence. Finally desperate to break it, Cooter said, " Sorry about this. If I had known that you making that jump to rescue my daughter would have caused this much damage, I wouldn't have been as rude."

The robot looked a bit surprised, then answered slowly, "It wasn't from the jump."

Cooter's head jerked up in surprise. "What?"

"I..." the robot looked unhappy, but continued, "I'm not a young bot by any means, and I haven't had routine maintenance done in vorns. I am, to put it quite simply, falling apart."

"How, uh, old are you then?"

"I am approximately seven million, seven hundred and seventy seven vorns old," the robot replied. It abruptly looked out towards the window at the sleet running down the glass. "I never really expected to live this long. I was already old, even older than that old Autobot windbag Kup, when the war started, and I fully expected to be shot and offlined in battle. I was angry at the injustices of the caste system, and Megatron was a revolutionary who wanted to get rid of it..." he trailed off.

Cooter continued to work in silence, then asked, "How long is a vorn?"

The robot replied, "Approximately 83 of your human years. I am around 58 million years old, in the timekeeping method on this planet."

More silence, as Cooter mentally goggled at the sheer _age _of the being before him. His curiosity piqued, he said, "Well, it looks like I'm going to be repairing this crappy mess for a while. Why don't you, uh, tell me a bit more about this uh, war of yours? You know, to pass time?"

The robot looked surprised, and then spoke up, "I was originally called from the Allspark as a preprogrammed Enforcer for the city-state of Kaon. The Allspark is what gives my people life-we do not reproduce as you organics do. I basically did the work of what one of your police officers here on Earth does."

"Kaon was no center of Enlightenment in those times either. It was home of many depraved and desperate bots, and of course the gladiator rings. Most of my work was from the bosses who controlled the rings, nothing but pure thuggery. I hated my life, as did so many others, for once you were sparked in a caste, you never were able to leave."

"I was an Enforcer for countless vorns. Even after my comrades were offlined around me, somehow I always managed to escape that fate. There was talk of retiring me, but before then, a young revolutionary, a former gladiator by the name of Megatron, seized the city. I joined his group, the ones he called Decepticons, because their ideals seemed to most reflect mine. They spoke of a unified Cybertorn, without the caste system, where all bots were equal."

"I was pleased with my decision to join them for the first vorn or so. There were a few that were too energonthirsty for my tastes, but I could deal with them. I rose in the ranks because of my experience and was proud. I had a distinguished record of battles that I fought in and was victorious. It wasn't until Praxus that I truly became disillusioned with them."

"The city was completely razed to the ground. They destroyed everyone and everything in the city. Thousands died, even sparklings-children. No one was spared, and all Megatron could speak of was more destruction. I was horrified-where was the honor in this? We had murdered our own people that we were supposed to be freeing. I stayed for a little longer, and began to look around me. Megatron was power hungry, I realized; he would never end the war and would keep on going until the whole planet ran with energon. An orn later, I left the Decepticons."

"I was also resolved not to join the Autobots. They fought under Optimus Prime, who was a decent mech, but they fought to maintain 'peace', which was, at the time, the status quo. Neither Megatron nor Optimus suited me as leaders: Megatron was a sparkless conqueror, and Prime would never address nor solve the problems that had caused this disagreement in the first place, namely the hated caste system. I also considered Prime to be somewhat weak-sparked, with a tendency to dither over important decisions when decisiveness was paramount, and not prepared to make the sacrifices that would have ensured him victory. I wouldn't join the Neutrals either, the craven bots that they were-my honor and pride would not allow it. They would rather run and hide from everything, rather than take a stand for what they believed in."

Cooter paused and then said rather hesitantly, "The night I first met you, you were yammerin' something about bein' a Deciwhatsist and being proud of it…and yet you're sittin' here now tellin' me that you ain't one no more. Don't make much sense to a simple ol' mechanic to me, if you get my drift."

The response was almost immediate. "The Decepticons have a rather notorious reputation. We are greatly feared and very powerful, and through that fear of our power, we have gained much respect and standing in the galactic communities, as well as many enemies. I was, and still am, in rather poor condition and I was not sure which planet I had landed upon. Your species resembles several others that I have encountered that are much more powerful and dangerous, and bear a deep hatred for those of my kind, Autobot and Decepticon alike. It did not help that you started acting completely illogically-I do not possess the advanced logic centers or battle computer mess that someone like the Autobot's blasted tactician have, but the response that I received from you was enough to almost make the limited one I do have crash." At the confused look on Cooter's face, Charger clarified, "It is like a sensory overload. When one of my kind crashes, we 'freeze up' and our body locks up. I believe it is analogous to the human activity of fainting."

"To continue with my tale, I was hoping that the reputation of my comrades would be enough to scare you off. Of course, it did not such thing. I was, quite frankly, surprised at how civilly you treated me, and your later irritation at me was not unwarranted."

"So you're on the run from both sides in this war thing?" Cooter asked.

"In a sense. When I started running, Megatron sent the DJD after me-they are a group that deals especially with deserters and traitors, as well as those who are too out of line or who have served their purpose and are no longer needed. I faked my death after a long and brutal chase, and ended up crashing here, where I managed to drag myself up and scan a suitable alt form before I was forced into stasis from the lack of energy. I stayed in stasis until you somewhat repaired me and I had sat out in the open long enough to absorb enough energy from your star, which took a long time. Even now, I am still 'running on fumes', as your people would say."

Cooter had found a length of rubber radiator hose, and for the next hour or so jury-rigged it so that it could replace the tubing that was torn. As he was tightening up the screws on the clamps that would hold in place he asked abruptly, "So what now?"

"Beg pardon?"

"What you goin' to do now? I mean, where you go from here? I ain't sure what the career options are for giant fugitive alien robots, but I'm pretty sure they ain't that great here on Earth."

"I have no wish to continue a war that completely devastated our planet, and I am in no condition to go anywhere. If I attempted to move off Earth, I would most likely offline before I reached any other planet of significance. I suppose that I will stay here until I fall apart and rust away." There was a pause, and then, "For the first time in my life, my options are severely limited, and I am not sure what to do. I feel like I am just going through functioning with no purpose. I have always known what I am and what to do, and now, I'm not sure where to go from here. "

Cooter stood up and began to gather up the tools, tossing them into various drawers in his "organized" greasy, trash bomb that had once been a large, rolling toolbox. He wiped his hands off to clean them (a futile endeavor), and said, "You and me both, bud."

_Mid Summer, 1983_

The day the demonic lawnmower attacked him, Cooter knew that he had officially lost his mind. He was walking out to his mailbox to pick up the mail, still in his pajamas, when the old Snapper lawnmower suddenly came to life with a roar. That was his first inkling that something was wrong-the lawnmower had quit working when the engine seized up almost five years before, and had been sitting on the side of the garage in the weather ever since. It was one of those things that he was always going to "get around to fixing one of these days," just like his two old tow trucks (one of which was still sitting up on blocks in the back), and the fifty-some odd holes in his roof.

The driverless mower came charging towards him, with no indication of stopping. Cooter, like any human being with any common sense, took off running in the opposite direction. He finally made it to the small door that accessed the side of the garage, and he shot through it like his pants were on fire. He could still hear the mower outside, as it mowed threateningly around the garage in circles. Scrambling up the stairs, he looked out of the window over the side of the garage. The old Snapper was still parked next to the garage, rusting away with three flat tires, and the other one nowhere to be seen. Yet he could still hear the demonic one running around outside. If his mower was still here, then what was that hell-sent thing in his driveway?

Judging by the noise, the hellspawn was around back. Carefully looking out the window, he could see it as it ferociously attacked the overgrown weeds in the backyard. It abruptly stopped, handlebars facing him, and then seemed to start twisting in on itself in that terrifyingly familiar way, the same way that Charger did. It was a miniature version of Charger, with some differences; Cooter could tell that it was a lawnmower, if he looked carefully. It was only about five or six feet tall, compared to Charger's twenty, but just as spiky and vicious looking, with those same reddish-amber eyes. However, it didn't look as hefty; much of the thick, tough 'armor' that covered Charger was absent on this one, and a lot more of its inner workings were visible. Cooter could actually see the gears and mechanical devices inside the thing working. It also didn't look to healthy either.

It was covered in rust, and the coloring was very dull, with some nasty gray patches. It also looked like someone had welded random parts to it to patch different areas. The little wretch glared up at him, baring teeth-like bits of metal in its mouth and hissing. It abruptly went rigid, staring towards the front of the garage, and then took off like a shot, disappearing inside the fallen-down shed out back. Two seconds later, Enos pulled up in a police car with the front bashed in and smoke pouring out of the radiator. The wretched little demon didn't appear for the rest of the day.

_Late Fall, 1983_

Three months later, Cooter and Lucifer, as he had nicknamed the demonic lawnmower robot, had seemed to come to a sort of understanding. Every morning when Cooter would go out to check the mail, the little robot would wait until he was walking back from the mailbox, then chase him back to the garage. It would turn into its robot form, hiss angrily at him, and then disappear for hours. It never seemed to make any move to physically harm him, but it had an intense dislike for anything human. When there was no one around, it would obsessively mow the grass. Cooter had never even seen the grass cut so short-the area around the garage looked like a manicured golf course. Privately, he wished the robot would quit. The run-down garage look about ten times worse now, and the weeds that used to hide all junk in the back were now gone.

The few times he did see it, it was either parked as a lawnmower or stretched out unmoving in the sun. Cooter recalled something about how Charger had said they could turn the sunlight into their energy source, but that it was a slow process. As the months had passed, the small one had begun to look worse and worse, and its spastic bursts of frenzied activity had begun to occur less and less. Cooter knew what a starving animal looked like-he had spent enough time around junkyards to see the hollow-eyed, gaunt dogs that stalked the edges of them. The small robot was obviously starving to death.

When Cooter caught it stealing gasoline he kept for the chainsaw, he did nothing. However, he did start leaving a few gallons of gasoline out every night before he went to bed. And he did start leaving the tops off of the two barrels he used to store the used motor oil in. The same used motor oil that he usually hauled off after changing the oil in cars that came through the shop. The attitude and behavior of the small robot towards him never changed, but every morning he woke up, the gasoline was always gone and the barrels were always empty.


End file.
